


Stand Up And Take Your Chance

by theglitterati



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Dancing, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-26 11:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5003230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Courferre Coffee Shop AU. Combeferre is an international student from France; Courf works at his new favourite coffee shop. I couldn't find a typical execution of this trope for this pairing, so I decided to write one. With a few other relationship tropes thrown in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Combeferre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is obviously from Do You Hear The People Sing?

**September**

It’s the first chilly day at the end of September, the first day of the season that requires a jacket, when Combeferre visits the Insomnia Café for the first time.

The café’s on the small side, about the size of a one bedroom apartment, and it’s a bit expensive for Combeferre’s budget, which explains why it’s almost empty in the middle of the day. But it’s just off campus, close to Ferre’s little studio, and it’s got a nice, cozy atmosphere. The ceiling and walls are covered in old, dark wood, and there’s a bunch of cushy old couches and armchairs in the corner. There’s also a fireplace, though it doesn’t appear to have been used (or cleaned) recently.

Ferre’s got some homework to do, and is looking for a quieter place to do it than his noisy apartment with paper-thin walls. He joins the short line at the counter, mentally rehearsing his order in his head.

But when he finally gets to order, all of his rehearsing flies right out of his brain, leaving an empty, hazy space behind, because the cashier is really, really, really cute.

He’s shorter than Ferre but not too short, a little chubby, with thick black curls and big brown eyes. He’s got the sleeves on his button down rolled up under his apron. Combeferre can practically feel his glasses fogging up from the heat coming off of his reddening cheeks. He’s normally quite self-assured, but something about this boy is making him tongue-tied.

“What can I get for you?” the cashier says with a smile.

“A medium coffee with milk, please,” Ferre says, internally chastising himself for mispronouncing half of the words.

“Voulez-vous la blonde, l’originale, ou la foncée?” replies the cashier.

Combeferre almost answers in French, but he stops himself at the last second. “The original, please,” he says.

“That’ll be $2.25,” the cashier says, and Combeferre hands it over. Ferre follows the flow of people down to the waiting area. There’s no one behind him, which means that cashier has nothing to do for now, and Ferre is surprised when the man follows him on the other side of the counter.

“Working on your English?” he asks.

“Yes, I am,” Ferre replies, still blushing from their earlier interaction.

“Where’re you from?”

“Paris.”

He’s been in Montreal for a month now, and his English has already vastly improved since he’s started classes. He’s going to an English university here, which means that all of his readings and all of his class discussions – for which participation is graded, of course – are in his second language, making it necessary to catch on quick so he doesn’t fall behind. He’s not having much trouble reading or understanding anymore, but people in stores keep switching to French when he talks to them, so he knows his pronunciation needs work.

“Sexy,” the cashier says. “Well, je suis bilingual, so you can always come practice with me. I’m Courfeyrac.”

“Combeferre,” Ferre chokes out.

And then Courfeyrac, no word of a lie, _winks_ at him. There’s another customer waiting now, so he walks away, still smiling, and Ferre’s drink is ready, which is perfect timing, because otherwise Ferre would have been left standing there with his mouth open, gaping at Courfeyrac.

***

Needless to say, Combeferre makes the Insomnia Café his new homework spot, going there practically every day and getting hardly any homework done. He packs a lunch at home instead of buying pizza or a sub on campus so that he has money to spend on the coffee shop’s fancy drinks. And he tries _all_ of the fancy drinks.

Why? Because Courfeyrac keeps making him. He makes him funny new drinks, or doodles badly on napkins for him, or tries to teach him obscure English words like _cantankerous_ and _mollycoddle_ that Ferre is sure have no place in actual conversation. And Ferre keeps coming back, day after day.

In fact, he and Courfeyrac, who insists now on being called Courf, have become friends. Friends who like to flirt with each other. Courf really does most of the flirting, with Ferre attempting to say something witty back when he can manage to get over how adorable he finds Courfeyrac. He’s still quieter than he usually is out of nervousness, but Courfeyrac makes up for it with his never-ending talking and laughing.

They’re about two weeks into this routine when Courf asks Ferre to hang out. Sort of.

“It’s called Les Amis de l’ABC,” Courf says, leaning over the counter to talk to Ferre, who’s sitting turned the wrong way on the couch. “It’s a pun, like—”

“Like _abaissés_ , I understand,” says Ferre. “What do you do?”

“Basically, we look for instances of injustice on campus, and then see if we can do anything about it. Like we were really involved in the student strikes a few years ago, and then now we’re working on getting the school to stop investing its money in oil companies.”

“How are you doing that?”

“Slowly,” Courf says. “We want to hold a protest, but there’s not very much awareness right now, so it would be a waste. We’re going to try and get people interested and then hold a protest in November or so.”

“Oh,” says Ferre. He’s never been to a protest before, never even thought of going to one, but it does sound like a good cause, and it also sounds like a reason to hang out with Courf more. He’s a little worried about how much he wants to see him more and more.

“So do you want to come, or…”

“Yes, I do,” Ferre says, maybe a little too quickly. He smiles shyly.

“Excellent.”

“Where is the meeting? And when?” Ferre asks.

Courfeyrac checks the clock, and then comes around to the other side of the counter, pulling his apron over his head, his t-shirt pulling up and revealing a sliver of stomach that Ferre tries and fails not to notice. Just then, the door of the café opens, and about ten people, all students, coming in, laughing and talking loudly. “Right here,” Courf says. “And right now.”

***

The meeting is hectic, to say the least.

The group manages to form a line and order drinks, while Courfeyrac flops down on the couch beside Ferre, sitting way too close and smelling way too good. Eventually, they all make their way over and sit on the mismatched couches and chairs. When everyone is as settled as they’re going to be, Courf clears his throat.

“Everyone, this is my new friend Combeferre, who has decided to give our little club a try,” he says.

“Finally we get to meet the legendary Combeferre,” says a boy in a green hoodie with a smirk, clearly up to something. _He talks about me to his friends?_ Ferre thinks, smiling.

“Hi, everyone,” is what he actually says.

Courf then gets to business introducing _everyone_. There’s Enjolras, a good-looking blond who appears to be in charge of the meeting, and Grantaire, the green hoodie guy, whose job seems to be to sit beside Enjolras and make sarcastic comments. There’s Bahorel, who hates school, and Jehan, who loves it, and Feuilly, who doesn’t even go to the university but still gets to be part of the group. Joly and Bossuet barely stop teasing-arguing long enough to give Ferre a cheerful greeting before turning back to their lively conversation, the pink-haired girl named Musichetta who sits between them looking irritated. Similarly, Marius and Cosette, a freckly kid and a kind-looking girl, can barely rip their eyes from one another for long enough to say hello – Courf says they’ve just started dating. Finally, there’s Eponine, a dark-haired girl with grey eyes and a fierce smile.

After the introductions, Enjolras calls the meeting to order, Ferre quickly learning everyone’s names and roles and the aims of the groups. He even manages to get a few words in, making suggestions about how they could build awareness for the protest, earning him a look of respect from Enjolras.

The meeting lasts an hour, but it flies by. Once they’re done discussing the items of the agenda, the meeting dissolves into groups of conversation. Ferre’s been enjoying it so much that he’s forgotten to be nervous about speaking English badly or about Courfeyrac sitting so close to him.

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” Courf says, shifting slightly to face Ferre and causing their knees to bump together. _Well, there’s the nerves again._

“I really liked it,” he tells Courfeyrac. “I would like to keep coming back.”

“Good,” says Enjolras, across from him. Combeferre hadn’t realized that he was listening. “You had some excellent ideas. It’ll be great to have you in the group.”

“Thanks,” says Ferre.

“I sure know how to pick ‘em, don’t I?” says Courf. As if to demonstrate, he throws his arms around Ferre for a quick but tight hug.

Combeferre nearly loses consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I stole the name Insomnia Cafe. Friends (the TV show) was almost called that.


	2. Combeferre

**October**

“Hey, wakey wakey,” says a voice not two inches from Combeferre’s ear.

He wakes with a start and sits up abruptly, temporarily forgetting where he is – lying on a couch at the café – and ends up bashing his head against Courfeyrac’s.

“Ow, man,” Courf whines, a hand over his face. “That hurt. At least let me sit down.” And he grabs Ferre’s legs and pulls them off of the couch before settling down next to him.

Combeferre’s awake now, but barely. He rubs his eyes, trying to bring himself back to life. “What time is it?”

“It’s four,” Courf replies. “On Saturday. On October 10th. 2015. CE.” Outside, rain is pelting the windows. “You’ve been asleep for like an hour.”

“My homework got boring,” Ferre mumbles. “I got tired. Why you didn’t wake me up more soon?”

“ _Sooner_ ,” Courf answers. “And you looked like a sleepy little angel.” Ferre rolls his eyes, and Courf laughs. “Really, though, I waited until I was finished my shift so I could see if you wanted to hang out tonight. I have homework to do, and obviously you still have some, too, so we can just have a homework party.”

It’s only been ten days since Combeferre attended his first meeting with Les Amis, but it’s been a fast ten days. Since then, he’s hung out with Courf’s friends twice and with Courf alone once. While he’s still trying to convince himself that he just thinks Courfeyrac is attractive and that he doesn’t have the biggest crush on him ever, at least the thought of hanging out with him alone doesn’t make him nervous anymore.

“Sure,” Ferre says. “But I have to go home first and get some more books, because I was almost finished this one before I fell asleep.”

Courfeyrac agrees, and so five minutes later, Courfeyrac having replaced his apron with a black wool coat, they leave to walk to Ferre’s apartment.

“Nice place,” Courfeyrac says when they arrive, and Ferre has to laugh.

It barely even qualifies as a whole apartment. There’s a tiny bed, an even tinier desk, a bathroom, and a little corner of the main room that passes as a kitchen.

“It’s cost-effective,” is what Ferre says. It only costs six hundred dollars a month.

Ferre is looking through his books on his desk for the right ones to bring when he remembers.

“Crap,” he says. “I have food cooking in the slow cooker for tonight.”

“You have a slow cooker?” Courf sounds surprised and impressed.

“I don’t have an oven,” replies Ferre. Other than the slow cooker, his kitchen consists of a mini-fridge, a toaster, and a microwave.

“Well, why don’t you just bring it? If you unplug it and then plug it right back in at my place, nothing will happen, right?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” says Ferre, shoving books into his backpack and then going to grab the food.

“What’s in there, anyway?”

“Beef bourguignon,” Ferre says.

“Wow.” Now Courfeyrac _really_ sounds impressed. “You can cook?”

“I can cook one thing: beef bourguignon,” corrects Ferre.

“One more thing than I can, unless you count chicken nuggets.” And with that, they’re off again.

***

Courfeyrac’s apartment is just a few blocks over from Ferre’s, back in the direction of the café. It is much, much nicer than his.

He shares the two-bedroom with Enjolras, who is not home at the moment, and the extra space means that he has a little living room with a small couch and a TV (though no cable).

They plug the slow cooker back in in the kitchen (“What’s the other word for a slow cooker? A crack pot?” – Courf bursts out laughing, managing to mumble _crock, not crack_ in between giggles), set up their homework across the coffee table, and get to work.

Courf sits forward on the couch, leaning over to his laptop on the table, writing a reading response, while Ferre leans back, head stuck in a textbook. Occasionally, they ask each other questions, Combeferre wanting to know what a word means or Courf asking him if something he’s written sounds weird, and although law and medicine are two very different subjects, they find that they’re able to help each other. Mostly, though, they work in a comfortable silence.

Combeferre tries to focus on his book, but his eyes keep wandering. It’s a good thing he’s a good student by nature, because he is spending more and more of his homework time staring at Courfeyrac lately, both now and at the café. While Courfeyrac works, Ferre’s able to drink in the details of him, the way he bites his lip when he’s concentrating, the way his hair curls tightly behind his ears. He tries to stop himself from imagining running his hands through those curls, but fails miserably. He does stop looking, however, when he snaps out of one of his daydreams to find Courf looking back at him and smiling.

After a couple hours of work, the timer dings on the slow cooker, and they get up to prepare dinner. There’s no table to eat at, and the only desks are in the bedrooms, so they just bring their plates back to the couch, putting an old episode of The Office on Netflix to watch while they eat.

“This is really, really fucking good,” Courfeyrac says with his mouth full of his second bite of the beef.

“Thanks.” Ferre smiles. “My mom taught me how to make it.”

“Do you miss your family in France?”

“Not really,” Ferre says. “Well, okay, that came out wrong. I do miss them, but I did my bac in Marseille and they live in Paris, so I never really got to see them much anyway, even when I lived in France. It’s just not that different now.”

“What about your friends?”

“I didn’t really—ah!” Ferre had not been paying attention to how he was holding his plate, and all of the sauce from the beef bourguignon had dripped onto his pants.

“Oh shit!” says Courf. “Is it burning you?” He jumps up to grab a towel from the kitchen.

“No,” Ferre says. “It’s not hot anymore, just gross. _Putain_.”

“The English word is ‘fuck,’” Courf says, reappearing with a tea towel. Ferre takes it and dabs uselessly at the stain. His pants are a light khaki colour, and the sauce is dark brown. There’s pretty much no hope of getting it out without a washing machine.

“Fuck,” Ferre says, sounding out the word slowly for Courf’s benefit. “I guess I have to go home and change.”

“Or you could just put on a pair of my pants, if you want? I don’t mind.”

“Okay, sure,” Ferre says slowly, suppressing a smile at the thought. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Courf says as he disappears into his bedroom.

He returns a minute later with a pair of dark grey sweatpants over his arm. “I hope these are okay,” he says. “My jeans would probably be too big on you, but at least these have a drawstring.”

Ferre just smiles and takes the pants into the bathroom to change. The sweatpants are big on his lanky frame, too, but, as Courf said, at least they have a drawstring. They’re a little short though, so Ferre pulls his socks up a bit to try and avoid the floods look.

“Are they okay?” Courf says when he comes back out.

“Perfect,” Ferre says, folding his pants and laying them down beside his backpack, and then coming back to sit on the couch, perhaps a little closer to Courf than he should be. “Thank you. Again.”

“No problem. Again,” Courf says, smiling, and looking up from under his thick, black lashes at Ferre, and then something happens. Or doesn’t happen, really. There’s a moment between them, a charged, electrifying moment where it feels like something _might_ happen, until the door slams open and Enjolras walks in, soaked from head to toe.

“Is it still raining out there?” Courfeyrac asks Enjolras casually, while Ferre clears his throat.

“Shut up,” says Enjolras exasperatedly, hanging up his coat. “Yes, obviously, it’s still raining. I feel bad for Jehan; we just left the library, and he’s got twice the walk home that I had.”

“He’ll probably write a poem about how beautiful it is or something, don’t worry.” Courf gets up and goes into the kitchen. “Enjolras, do you want some beef bourguignon?” he calls from the other room. “Combeferre made it. I’m getting him a new plate, too, since he spilled his first one all over himself.”

Enjolras looks at Combeferre then, taking in the full picture of him in a black t-shirt and what he clearly knows to be Courf’s sweatpants. Ferre is thankful he doesn’t say anything about this, though he does raise his eyebrow before yelling to Courfeyrac that he does want some of the food.

They eat together, Enjolras sitting on the floor across from them, and then give up on trying to do homework and just watch TV and talk instead, eventually opening a bag of chips when they get hungry again. Enjolras updates them on how their project is going trying to raise awareness for their protest. Apparently, they – Enjolras, Grantaire, and Marius – spoke to the Dean’s office the day before about getting them to release financial records, and although Enjolras thought Grantaire made too many jokes and Marius was too generous about their stance, it went fairly well.

Time is moving faster than Ferre realizes, and before he knows it, it’s midnight, and Enjolras is going to bed. Ferre doesn’t feel like letting the day – which has been _perfect_ – end, and Courf doesn’t seem tired, so he doesn’t excuse himself to leave just yet.

When Enjolras’s door shuts, Ferre turns to Courf and asks, “Is Enjolras dating Grantaire?”

As the evening went on, Enjolras told, by Ferre’s count, five different stories, and four of them were about Grantaire. Grantaire annoying him, Grantaire getting drunk and saying something stupid, Grantaire actually managing to do something good for the cause for once, and then Grantaire annoying him once again.

Courf laughs. “That, my friend, is a very good question. Honestly, I have no idea.”

Ferre looks puzzled, so Courf explains.

“No, I don’t technically think that they’re dating, or maybe they are and they just don’t know it yet. They spend all of their free time together and bicker like a married couple, and Grantaire has told people in the past that he likes E, but E has never said anything similar, at least not to me. I think he likes R but is too afraid to admit it. Or maybe he doesn’t know he likes R. Or maybe he doesn’t even know he likes guys.”

“How do you know he likes guys if he doesn’t know?”

Courf smiles wickedly, and Ferre feels like Courf is staring directly into his soul. “Because I like guys, and I can always tell.”

Combeferre decides that now would be a very good time to clear the plates from the table, even though this isn’t his apartment.

One episode of The Office later, and Ferre starts to get tired. It’s almost one in the morning, and it’s still pouring rain, and he might as well get the walking through it over with.

He says as much, and gets up to go, when Courf grabs his arm.

“Do you want to just sleep here?” he asks uncertainly.

“Um,” is all Ferre can say.

“If that’s not too weird,” Courf adds in a rush. “I mean, if you want to.”

“I do,” Ferre says a little too quickly. “But I, um… I think your couch is too small for me.” It’s a loveseat, really, not a couch, and there’s no way that Ferre, who is over six feet tall, could sleep on that tiny thing.

He didn’t mean it as an invitation, though Courfeyrac appears to take it as one.

“You could sleep in my bed, if, again, that’s not too weird. I’ll sleep over the sheet and you can sleep under. It’s a queen, so it’s pretty big.”

Ferre coughs a little to keep from letting his excitement show too much this time. “Sure, that sounds good,” he manages to get out in an even tone.

“Okay, cool,” Courfeyrac says. “Sleepover!” And then he turns and leads the way into the bedroom.

Combeferre doesn’t even bother to adjust his face now that Courf can’t see, and just grins at the back of his head as he follows him into the room.


	3. Courfeyrac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA in which Combeferre is like one of those girls in 90s movies who take their glasses off and become hot except that he keeps the glasses on.

When Courfeyrac stirs the next morning – at 9:27 a.m., according to his alarm clock – the rain has stopped, and the sun is streaming in the window, filtering through the changing autumn leaves on the tree outside.

And somebody’s wrapped around him.

For all of Courf’s flirty, suggestive, innuendo-filled personality, he’s not really one to sleep around, nor one to forget who he’s brought to bed with him. So it takes him a minute before he fully wakes up and replays the previous day’s events, realizing it’s Combeferre who’s next to him.

And then it takes him another two seconds or so to realize that he’s hard.

He can’t really help it. Even with the sheet between them, there’s almost no space anywhere between their bodies. Combeferre – somehow – has one arm underneath Courfeyrac’s pillow and the other on his chest. Not just lazily thrown across him, but his hand at Courf's sternum, clutching at his t-shirt. And he can feel Combeferre’s body pressed up against every inch of him from behind.

Courfeyrac doesn’t get embarrassed easily, but this is an exception. It would be one thing if he was on his own side of the bed. However, despite being the little spoon, he’s almost entirely on Ferre’s side, leaving plenty of evidence that he was the one who moved over in the night and initiated the cuddling. Not that Ferre seems to mind, but…

Sadly, Courfeyrac’s neck is incredibly uncomfortable with Ferre’s arm underneath it – not that that’s the only place he’s currently experiencing discomfort; it’s just the one he can do something about – so he needs to move. Pretending to still be asleep, he grabs the pillow and pulls it down so that Ferre’s arm is above it on the bed instead of under it.

Combeferre stirs at the point, letting go of his shirt, and Courf freezes, not wanting him to know he’s awake and completely aware of the situation and not doing anything about it. But Combeferre doesn’t wake up yet, just readjusts his position and makes a satisfied noise in his sleep that has Courf biting his inside of his cheek to keep quiet.

And then Courf feels something move against his ass, and he bites down so hard on his cheek that he tastes blood.

Combeferre moves a little, driving Courf crazy, but Courf can tell he’s awake now, because he shifts away a bit, and Courf is so glad that the duvet is over him still to cover up his crotch, because Ferre starting to get hard against him before waking has him ready to explode.

Ferre’s frozen a few inches away, seemingly trying to figure out if Courf’s still asleep. Courf decides it’s easier just to pretend to stay asleep at this point. It’s a little early in the… whatever this is between them to be having this kind of conversation. Ferre buys the act and gets up, Courf hearing him gathering his stuff up and leaving. He’s simultaneously glad he didn’t come on too strong while wishing that he’d grabbed him and kissed him so hard he’d never leave.

When Courf finally gets out of bed twenty minutes later (What? He was just lying there, _okay_?), he finds a note on the counter that says _Thank you for letting me stay, and thank you for the pants._ He’s still smiling at the note when Enjolras walks into the room a minute later, asking why he’s holding a random piece of paper like it’s a diamond.

***

The week flies by as Courfeyrac tries desperately to pay attention in his classes and not daydream about Combeferre. How smart he is, how cute his glasses are, how he makes Courf feel important just by looking at him, his hair, his eyes, his _accent_ , how he wants Ferre to push him up against a wall…

…great, and now he’s missed half of his family law lecture again.

Courfeyrac was worried all day Sunday that Combeferre might be so embarrassed about sleeping… against him that he would stop coming to the café. But he's there again Monday afternoon, with Courf’s pants washed to give back to him.

“Thank you again for letting me borrow them,” he says. “You’re very kind.” His eyes widen for a moment and then he corrects himself. “I mean, it was very kind of you to do that.”

But Courf still heard the first version of the sentence, and it’s all he can do not to reach across the counter and grab him by the collar for a kiss.

They see each other on Wednesday, too, Combeferre trying his first pumpkin spice latte and loving it, but it’s Friday that Courf’s looking forward to, and when it finally rolls around, he couldn’t be more thrilled.

It’s Bahorel’s birthday, and they’re all going dancing. At a club. Some of them are excited, and some of them are going reluctantly and trying to pretend like they’re happy about it. Courf falls directly in the first category. He’s dressed up, looking good in a leather jacket, and excited to maybe dance with his new friend. Maybe grab his hips. Maybe press up against him a little bit…

As it’s central to all of their apartments, they meet at the café before walking to the club, the windows fogged up from the cool evening air meeting the warm interior, Grantaire producing a flask and pouring it into people’s to-go cups of hot chocolate. Everyone’s dressed to the nines. Most of the guys are just wearing their best jeans and a nice shirt, with maybe a nice jacket, though Enjolras is wearing a red (faux) leather jacket that’s practically making Grantaire drool. Grantaire, for his part, is wearing a blazer, white button-down, and jeans, with a tie that’s purposely not tied hanging around his neck, and it has not escaped Enjolras’s notice. Jehan’s got on a bright pink shirt that Courf thinks weirdly suits him perfectly. Eponine’s cleaned up the nicest, trading her usual jeans-and-big-pullover-sweatshirt combo for a tight and short silver dress and heels. Courfeyrac has to literally kick Feuilly in the leg to get him to stop staring.

And then Combeferre arrives, the last to get there, and Courf is laughing because he’s wearing literally the exact same thing he always wears, a black t-shirt and khaki pants with a black windbreaker.

“I look silly, don’t I?” he says immediately. “Everyone’s so dressed up. I didn’t know what to wear.”

“You look perfect,” Courf tells him, and means it. “We can go now!” he shouts over the noise.

They’ve got a decent walk to the bar, about fifteen minutes, and the sidewalk’s not big enough for all of them to talk together, so they break off into groups. Courf is pleased when Ferre falls in step next to him.

“Do you drink alcohol?” Ferre asks him.

“Yeah, I do. Do you not?”

“No, I do, I was just wondering if this was like… a drinking thing. Like if you all drink.”

“Enjolras, Jehan, Joly, and Musichetta don’t drink,” Courf tells him, “and Grantaire, Bahorel, Bossuet, Eponine, and sometimes Feuilly drink a lot.”

“What about Marius and Cosette?”

“I have no idea; they never stop making out for long enough to ask.”

Ferre snorts a little with laughter, and Courf has to take a _moment_ , because it’s so damn cute.

“I asked because I do drink, but I can’t drink a lot or I get sick. So I wanted to ask you to make sure I don’t have more than about… three drinks.”

“I’ll be your watchdog,” Courf says. “I’ll only get a new drink when you do, so I can keep track.” _And then we’ll get married and have kids and live happily ever after and maybe get a dog, too_ , Courf’s mind fills in.

“ _D’accord_ ,” says Ferre, crunching up his nose while he thinks of the right word. “Deal.”

They get in quickly, though whether because of their reservation or because of the way the entire line’s heads turn when Eponine walks by Courf doesn’t know.

It’s loud and dark with flashy lights and totally not Courf’s scene, but it’s still pretty fun. They’ve got a private booth, so it’s not too crowded or bassy, and they can still talk.

After a couple hours, the usual drunk vs. sober groups start to form, Courf and Ferre still falling into the latter. The drunkies plus Jehan (who dances pretty much all the time, so it’d be nice to do it on an actual dance floor for once) and the two-headed person that is Marius and Cosette (who, it seems, do not drink) are heading for the dance floor. Grantaire is trying to drag Enjolras along with him and getting nowhere. He changes tactics and starts dancing with the first girl he finds, and within five minutes Enjolras is up and dragging him away from her by the tie.

Then it’s just Courf, Ferre, Joly, and Musichetta left at the table, and even without Bossuet there, the double-date feeling is palpable. Courf thinks it’s a good time to make a move, and gives Joly a pointed look, making him hastily finish up his story before turning away from the table and towards Chetta to talk quietly.

Courf’s normally so smooth that it’s annoying that he can’t be when he actually cares about the consequences of his words. With an unusual lack of eloquence, he spits out, “Wanna go dance?”

“Okay,” says Combeferre, grinning slowly, and Courf feels his mouth match the smile.

Courf has to restrain himself from taking Ferre's hand to lead him on the dance floor, and instead just lets Ferre walk in front of him over to where the rest of their friends are dancing.

Marius and Cosette are as lovely-dovey as usual, just set to music this time, and Eponine’s doing things to a shocked Feuilly that make _Courfeyrac_ of all people need to avert his eyes. Jehan, Bossuet, and Bahorel are dancing in a loosely-formed group, and Enjolras and Grantaire are nowhere to be seen. Courf assumes they went to hate-fuck in the bathroom or yell at each other or something.

Courf and Ferre join the non-sexy group and start dancing with everyone else. They’re about half a song in when Courf starts thinking he’s died and gone to heaven.

Ferre is literally _the hottest dancer_ Courfeyrac has ever seen. You might not expect it, with his fancy little glasses or his mild manners, but, god, the man can _move._ He’s got one arm up over his head, eyes shut, his mouth fallen open, and he’s _rolling_ his hips obscenely, and Courf’s in the middle of having an aneurysm when Ferre opens his eyes and reaches out, tentatively, and grabs his hand, pulling him close.

And then they’re moving together, because Courf might not be that good, but he’s still a good dancer. The music is pounding in his ears as he reaches out and puts a hand on Ferre’s waist, and the distance between them closes and then Ferre’s other hand is in his. He can feel Ferre’s breath on his neck and their hips smash together and their friends and the other people are gone and _it’s just me and him,_ Courf thinks. _It’s just me and him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know where the Feuilly/Eponine stuff came from, but I'm digging it.


	4. Courfeyrac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um oops! This chapter got a little bit out of control and ended up being almost 3000 words long! I hope you enjoy it!

The next day, at 11 a.m., the sweet spot between the breakfast and lunch rushes when there’s hardly any customers, Courf is passing the time cleaning the counter when Enjolras comes rushing in.

“I need to talk to you right now,” he says, his voice low and urgent.

“I’m working,” Courf says, as he continues to clean the same spot that he’s been cleaning for the past ten minutes.

Enjolras wrinkles his eyebrows at him. “No you’re not.”

Courf shrugs, considering it. “Yeah, actually, I’m totally not,” he says with a smile. He glances into the back of the café, checking that his boss is still on the computer in the office, before turning back to Enjolras. “What’s up, guy-who-is-still-wearing-yesterday’s-clothes?” He waggles his eyebrows at E.

Not only is Enjolras still wearing the same clothes as the night before, but he’s got bags under his eyes that look practically black under his pale, translucent skin. He doesn’t seem to have slept all night.

“I hooked up with Grantaire last night,” Enjolras says through gritted teeth, looking furious.

Courf opens his mouth to try to form some words to respond to _that_ , but he’s interrupted by a shrill scream from the table near the window.

“Oh my god, are you _serious_?!” yells Cosette. She and Marius are sitting at the table, hands linked in the middle and jaws on the floor.

Enjolras looks wildly from Courfeyrac to them and back. “Did you know they were there?”

“Obviously, I served them like ten minutes ago.”

“Then why didn't you warn me before I said anything!?”

“It’s not Courfeyrac’s fault that you didn’t notice us sitting literally five feet away from you,” says Cosette. Marius seems unable to speak.

“Oh my god,” Enjolras whines, leaning his elbows on the counter and hiding his face in his hands. “Now _everyone_ knows.”

Cosette rolls her eyes. “We can keep a secret, dummy. Right Marius?” Marius nods after being kicked under the table by Cosette. “That is,” Cosette continues slyly, “if you tell us what exactly the secret is that we’re keeping.”

“I don’t follow,” says Enjolras.

“She wants the details,” says Courfeyrac, eager to hear them himself. “Did you guys, you know…?” He makes a motion with his hands to represent ‘sex.’

Enjolras dramatically flings himself into the free chair on the window side of Marius and Cosette’s table, burying his head in his arms. “No,” he mumbles from beneath his hair. “But we did everything else.”

Cosette squeals in delight again, clapping her hands, and pats Enjolras on the shoulder. Marius looks like his eyes might pop out of his head.

“Why are you so upset about it?” asks Courfeyrac from the counter.

Enjolras raises his head just enough so that Courf can see his eyes. “Because we got in a fight this morning. R said something about last night being a date and I said, ‘it wasn’t a date,’ because it just like _factually_ wasn’t, because he didn’t ask me on a date, but then he took that to mean that I didn’t want it to be a date when that wasn’t what I said, and then he told me to leave him alone. It was so stupid.”

“So do you like him, or not?” asks Marius, finally getting his speech back.

Enjolras rolls his eyes, his typical response to anything Marius says to him. “Obviously, I do,” he says petulantly.

“Well, then, just talk to him, and tell him that,” Cosette says kindly. “You can make up.”

“I tried that this morning,” Enjolras says, “and he kicked me out. It’s pointless to try and talk to him; all he ever does is argue with me. I could tell him that the sky is blue, or that two plus two equals four, and he’d argue.”

Courf pipes up. “Well, actually, the blue colour that you see in the sky is—”

“Oh, shut _up_ ,” Enjolras says, getting up to leave, clearly in the worst mood of his life. Cosette grabs his arm.

“You know, the reason he argues with you is because he likes you. I know that sounds like that little-boys-pull-girls’-pigtails-because-they-like-them sexist bullshit, but it’s true.”

“I might have even heard him use the word ‘love,’” Marius adds quietly.

Enjolras’s eyes bulge at this. “I, what… you—ugh!” Enjolras sputters. In the end, he just turns and leaves without saying goodbye to any of them. Courf, Cosette, and Marius stare after him.

“Well, that was fun to watch,” Courf deadpans before going to serve the customer who has just arrived.

***

A week later, Courfeyrac and Combeferre are sitting on Courf’s couch, trying to watch TV over the shouts coming from Enjolras’s bedroom.

“Is he alone in there?” Ferre asks.

“I think he’s on the phone,” Courf says, grabbing the remote to turn the TV up.

“So,” Courf says. “Halloween’s in a week. What are we going as?”

“We’re dressing up?”

“Obviously,” Courf says. “Do you not do Halloween in France?”

“We do,” Ferre says. “It’s just not a very big deal.”

“Well, here, it’s a _huge_ deal,” Courf says. To him it is, anyway. Halloween is his favourite holiday. “Enjolras and I are having a party next Saturday – or, really, I’m having a party and Enjolras is tolerating it – and everyone has to dress up.”

“Am I invited?” Ferre asks.

Courf looks at him like he’s crazy. “Obviously you’re invited. I’m just telling you now so you can get a costume. You’re over here every Saturday anyway. I didn’t tell you earlier because I knew you’d be here.”

Ferre smiles at that. “I have no idea what to dress up as. I haven’t bought a costume since I was little.”

“Well, then, we’ll get matching ones. Batman and Robin?”

Ferre looks mildly affronted. “There is no way I’m wearing spandex.”

“Fred and Wilma Flintstone?”

“Definitely not.”

“Bert and Ernie?”

“Who?”

“Oh my god, forget—” Courf says, then stops, getting an idea. “No, wait.” A wicked grin spreads across his face.

“I don’t like that face,” Ferre says. “I definitely don’t trust that face.”

“Trust it, baby, ‘cause I just got the greatest idea of my life,” Courf says excitedly.

And that is how Courf and Ferre end up buying Mario and Luigi costumes for Halloween.

And if then noise coming from Enjolras’s room changed from shouts to soft, affectionate words during their conversation, neither of them bothered to noticed.

***

“My mustache is itchy,” Ferre says as he pours chips into a bowl in the kitchen, dressed as Luigi. It’s Halloween, and they’ve spent the last hour decorating the apartment for the party, Enjolras hiding in his room and claiming that he needs the time to get ready.

“That’s tough,” Courf says from the doorway in his Mario getup, “because we’re wearing them all night. Frankly, I think mine makes me even more handsome.” He reaches up to pet his fake mustache, and Combeferre snorts.

“And put your hat back on,” Courf says, coming over to reach up and pull the green hat on Ferre’s head, mustering all of his self-control to stop himself from gently running his fingers through the fine brown hair he finds there. “Without it, you’re just a weird French farmer or something.”

“You have a francophone accent, too, you know,” Ferre mutters.

“ _Pas comme toi, mon chéri,”_ Courf says, imitating Ferre’s accent in a ridiculously exaggerated manner. “ _Pas comme toi.”_

“Are you sleeping here tonight?” Courf asks when he’s done teasing.

“I was planning on it,” Ferre says. “If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course it’s fine,” Courf says. _Of course it is so totally wonderfully amazingly fine._

The doorbell rings, and Courf and Ferre head out of the kitchen to answer it, but Enjolras beats them there.

He’s got a dark red cape made of faux fur tied around his neck, with a gold plastic crown on his head. Needless to say, Courf and Ferre both double over laughing when they see him.

“Do. Not. Laugh,” Enjolras says, looking furious. “I did _not_ choose this.”

“But it’s you… in a CROWN… as a KING,” Courf gets out in between chuckles. Ferre’s still wheezing a little. “Honestly, if I didn’t know you, and how much you must be hating this, I’d tell you that you looked great. But this is truly hilarious. Who picked this, if you didn’t?”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras sneers. “We picked each other’s costumes. I didn’t think he’d be quite so sadistic about it.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Courf says. “Though I’m surprised he didn’t pick Queen Elizabeth, really rub the monarchy in.”

“Don’t give him any ideas,” Enjolras says. Courf and Ferre are still laughing.

“Also, we’re dating now, so don’t make it weird,” Enjolras says tartly. That shuts the two of them up.

“Are you ever going to open the door? We can hear you!” Joly shouts from the hall.

“Sorry!” Courf yells, and then opens it. In the time they’ve spent talking, all of their friends have amassed in the hallway – probably to their neighbours’ annoyance, since they’re not even trying to be quiet. They enter in a long stream of people, and then the party begins.

***

The worst thing about Halloween in Canada is that it’s never warm enough to wear just a costume outside; you’ve always got to bring a coat to go out. The coats end up on Enjolras’s bed, and since the apartment is pretty small, the party spills in there, too. Courfeyrac puts the music on, a pop and spooky songs mix, and sets out the snacks and drinks to get the festivities in full swing.

Courf and Ferre make the rounds together, admiring everyone’s costumes. Eponine makes a gorgeous Wonder Woman, and Feuilly’s dressed as Superman, though they swear neither of them knew what the other was coming as. Musichetta’s dressed as Sailor Moon and Bossuet’s dressed as a vaguely familiar anime character with a blue arrow on his head, and Joly is, inexplicably, dressed as a penguin. When Ferre asks him why he’s not dressed as an anime character, too, his reply is simply a confused “because I like penguins?”

Cosette and Marius make a disgustingly sweet Cinderella and Prince Charming, Marius looking surprisingly svelte in his costume. Jehan’s done some incredible makeup work to transform himself into Maleficent, and Bahorel’s dressed as a pirate, complete with a stuffed parrot on his shoulder. Finally, they get to Enjolras and Grantaire, and it’s hilariously obvious that Grantaire did not choose his costume for himself.

He’s dressed as a cop, and his costume is so perfect that Courf starts to wonder if he actually stole it from the police station during the one night that he spent in the drunk tank. He’s got the baggy camo pants, the tight t-shirt and fake bulletproof vest, and the red baseball cap, and when he puts his aviators on, the effect is so outrageously hot that no one in the room can stop staring.

“I thought Enjolras’s costume was bad,” Courf says. “Him being a king and all. But I have to say, he picked a good-bad one for you, too.”

“I actually don’t even mind it,” Grantaire says. “At least I look good.”

“And I don’t?” Enjolras says stiffly.

“No, you look _great_ ,” Grantaire says huskily, taking Enjolras’s hand and making Courf and Ferre wish they were anywhere else in the world at that moment. “No one ever doubted you’d look good in a crown.”

“Ew,” says Courf quietly, as Ferre clears his throat.

“Hey, did you say he was dressed as a king?” Grantaire asks Courf, before turning back to Enjolras. “You didn’t tell them what you’re really dressed as?”

“Isn’t a king bad enough?” Enjolras mutters.

“Definitely not, if I have to be a pig,” Grantaire says. “Say what I told you to say.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and huffs before saying, as quietly as possible, “I am Joffrey of the House Baratheon, king of all of Westeros.”

Courf’s stomach is hurting and Ferre’s practically on the ground by the time they’re finished laughing.

“Are you done?” Enjolras asks, approximately five minutes later.

“Just about,” Ferre says in an attempt at a calm manner.

“Good,” Enjolras says, and then he drags Grantaire away into the only private place left in the apartment, Courfeyrac’s bedroom.

“Not in my room,” Courfeyrac whispers feebly as they go.

“Come on,” Ferre says, holding out his hand. “Let’s go get some food.”

“I think I’ve permanently lost my appetite thinking about what they might do on my bed, but you can eat.” He lets Ferre pull him back into the party.

The party’s a hit, and Courf’s so happy that he decided to have one this year with just his favourite people, instead of them all trying to get seats together at a pub.

They play the drinking game Kings, Combeferre picking Courf as his date when he draws an eight, leaving Courf touched, and then proceeding to lose miserably at every challenge and get them stuck with more drinks than anyone else. Luckily, the punch isn’t very strong, and they don’t get too drunk.

Bossuet does, though, and he initiates a game of Truth or Dare that’s just a completely transparent attempt to get Eponine and Feuilly to kiss, which they do by the fourth turn of the game. Bahorel tells them the kiss has to last at least ten seconds when he dares them to do it, but they don’t break apart for a whole minute, Eponine giving everyone the finger over Feuilly’s shoulder when they all start to whistle.

The game dissipates quickly after that, leaving Courf a little sad that neither he nor Ferre got a turn. He would probably have regretted it sooner or later if their first kiss had been in front of everyone, on a dare, but he’s hardly thinking that way right now.

Eventually, the party winds down, the couple and triad heading out around one in the morning and Eponine and Feuilly leaving at the same time, “but definitely going back to our respective apartments and NOT going home together,” a slightly-drunk Feuilly emphasizes as they leave, Eponine whispering “be _cool_ ” as he says it.

Jehan and Bahorel stick around for a while, and they put on the Rocky Horror Picture Show to watch.

Courf and Ferre are sitting on the couch, with Bahorel and Jehan on either side of them leaning against the bottom of it. Quietly, so their friends won’t notice, Courf reaches over and takes Ferre’s hand in his.

Ferre looks over at him, surprised, and Courf almost pulls his hand back out of nervousness before Ferre intertwines their fingers together and runs his thumb over the edge of Courf’s hand, keeping his eyes on Courf the entire time.

And then, both of them blushing profusely, they turn back to the movie, sneaking closer together little by little, not letting their friends see.

Until Jehan turns around to ask a question and the two of them whip apart, leaving an awkward silence hanging in the room as Jehan trails off, seemingly forgetting what he was going to ask.

“I’m _really_ tired,” Bahorel says, not at all subtly.

“Me too,” says Jehan fervently, and not thirty seconds pass before the two of them have grabbed their coats and are leaving, thanking Courf for a great time as they go.

It gets even more awkward for a moment, as the two of them can’t figure out what to do with themselves now, before Ferre speaks.

“Can I take my mustache off now that everyone is gone?”

Courf laughs. “Yes, I suppose so,” he says. “The hat, too.”

Ferre pulls both off as Courf removes his as well, but there’s a bit of glue left on Ferre’s upper lip from the mustache.

“You still have some goop,” Courf says, as an excuse to reach out and wipe it off. He gets the glue off in a few seconds, then runs his finger over Ferre’s upper lip a few times for good measure, Ferre looking mildly confused but making no effort to stop him. _That’s enough_ , Courf tells himself, _stop before you go too far_ , but when has he ever had that much self-control? He presses his palm against Ferre’s cheek, running his thumb over Ferre’s lower lip, Ferre letting his mouth fall open just a bit.

“We should go to bed now,” Ferre says against his hand, and Courfeyrac has no idea what he means by it.

“Okay,” Courf says shakily, and, not even thinking about it, he takes Ferre’s hand to lead him to the bedroom.

But when they open the door, the room isn’t empty, and Courf can’t decide whether he wants to punch Enjolras or Grantaire first, having forgotten they were in there. Luckily, they’re not on his bed – they’re curled up facing each other on the floor against the end of the bed, literally just sitting in silence and gazing into each other’s eyes. It’s so adorable that it’s sickening.

“Get the hell out,” Courf says, not even trying to hide his anger.

“Rude, much?” Grantaire says as they stand up. “It’s not like we were fucking in here or something.”

“I think I’d be less grossed out right now if you were,” Courf says.

They leave quickly, Enjolras at least having the decency to look apologetic, but when Courf turns to Ferre, he just looks a little sad, and Courf knows that the moment’s over. They crawl into bed, again separated by the blanket, and go right to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I somehow wrote myself into being a hardcore Eponine/Feuilly shipper, oops!
> 
> Also, [reference for Grantaire's costume so you can see what it looks like](http://i.cbc.ca/1.2718237.1417802822!/fileImage/httpImage/image.jpeg_gen/derivatives/16x9_620/pension-bill-city-hall-protest.jpeg). The Montreal police have been on strike for ages and tbh I hope it never ends because I love the outfits so much.
> 
> Also, I had so so so much fun dressing up les amis, you have no idea!


	5. Combeferre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for like the mildest description of blood and injury ever. Just in case.

**November**

Ever since Halloween, Combeferre has been of two minds.

He accepted a long time ago that he likes Courfeyrac as much more than a friend. Pretty much the first day that he met him. And it’s been great. Ferre enjoys spending time with him more than anything else; he goes through his classes in a daze, waiting for the next time he’ll get to see Courf. He spends just as much time at the café as Courf does, despite not being employed there. Ferre can’t remember the last time he felt this way. Or perhaps he has never felt this way before.

But that’s just it; it’s all new to him, and it’s frightening. When it was just a crush, just some light-hearted feelings for a cute guy with a great smile, it was different. He thinks that Courfeyrac might even feel that way about him now, but for Ferre, it’s something more.

Because he knows Courfeyrac better now. He knows that he’s not just cute, he’s beautiful and intricate and _different_ , just so different from the masses of blank faces Ferre finds himself in every day. He’s smart and funny and selfless and kind. And he doesn’t just have a great smile; he has a smile that can cheer you up, make you laugh, teach you how to think with your heart. Without him, all of his friends would fall apart, yet he manages to make them all forget what he has done for them, giving everything he can and asking nothing in return.

Ferre sees this, though no one else does. And that’s what he’s so afraid of. Loving someone, seeing them for what they really are and being blinded by it, can be a terrifying thing.

Combeferre is a lot of things. He’s intelligent, remarkably so. He’s a clear thinker and a strong leader. He believes in justice and fairness and helping others when he can.

But he’s not _good_ like Courfeyrac, and so he isn’t going to be good enough for him.

***

It’s at Courfeyrac’s birthday party two weeks later, two weeks of Ferre trying to put distance between them and failing, that things reach the breaking point.

The party’s fun, of course. Les Amis have succeeded in building the amount of support that they wanted for their protest, which is going to be happening the following week. Everyone’s a little on edge because of this, especially Enjolras, but today, the extra energy is just making them more upbeat.

They have the party at the café, because Courf doesn’t want anything big, he says, just to spend time with his friends. His manager has given him the keys for the night, provided they don’t drink any alcohol in there (a rule that Grantaire is secretly making sure people are breaking) and they clean up after themselves. There’s pizza that everyone’s chipped in for, a cake made by Cosette with twenty-three candles that Courf blows out in one go, and a communal gift of theatre tickets for him and one friend for whatever show they want.

Courf throws an arm around Combeferre when he opens them and declares that he’ll be coming with him. And then he subsequently forgets to remove the arm, keeping Ferre pulled close to him on the couch. And Ferre, despite trying desperately to smile, can’t bring himself to enjoy it. He feels a million miles away.

 _One of us is going to get hurt,_ Ferre tells himself when Courf smiles at him and he feels like ripping himself in two, _and it’s going to be you._

But because he can’t just leave the party, Ferre has to sit and smile and be good and forget that he loves Courfeyrac so much that it hurts and even if Courf likes him back a little there’s no way he’s ever going to be feel what Ferre feels for him, the all-encompassing passion that burns like fire but cuts like ice. And Ferre wouldn’t wish it on him, anyway, because it just hurts too damn much.

He’s about to make an excuse to go home early, and step out of the flames while he still can, when Courf asks him to help him with something in the breakroom. He can hardly say no, so he gets up and follows Courf, reluctant to be alone with him.

“What do you need help with?” Ferre asks as he shuts the door behind him. The room is tiny. If you sat at the desk and tipped the chair back, your head would hit the door.

“ _This,_ ” Courf says, as he closes the distances between them and presses his lips to Ferre’s.

Ferre feels like Eve taking a bite of the apple. _If this is my last chance,_ he thinks, _I might as well go out with a bang._

He tangles a hand in Courf’s hair, and it feels just like he imagined it would feel. He presses Courf’s mouth open and bites down on his lower lip, eliciting a gasp from Courfeyrac and making Ferre feel like crying. He gets a hand under Courf’s leg and throws him up onto the desk, using his hands to memorize every bit of him that he can, knowing he’s never going to be allowed to do this again, never going to let himself do this again.

Ferre’s kissing the man he loves, finally, _finally_ , but it doesn’t feel good like it should. It feels like a punch to the stomach.

They pull apart to breathe, and Courf whispers _that was perfect_ and Ferre whispers _I love you_ , hammering the nail into his own coffin. And then he can see it, the shock and disbelief on Courfeyrac’s face when he says it, and he knows that he was right, that Courf doesn’t feel the same way, and then, surprisingly, it’s not that bad, it’s what he expected, and he can _just_ force himself to feel numb enough to keep the hurt away.

He leaves without a word, Courf still on the desk, unable to move, and exits the café, not looking back.

***

Text from Enjolras: _Sorry to hear that you felt sick. I hope you feel better._

Text from Feuilly: _Are you okay man?_

Text from Joly: _What are you sick with??????_

This is how Combeferre figures out that Courfeyrac told everyone he left the party because he was feeling sick. He’s grateful to him for lying, for allowing him to preserve his dignity.

He doesn’t go to the café at all during the week, though he desperately wants to. But it’s best for both of them if he stays away. Or so he tells himself.

Courf texts and calls him almost constantly for the entire night of and day after the party.

_Why did you run away like that? After what you said? Please call me I need to talk to you._

But Ferre doesn’t call. He doesn’t need to hear Courfeyrac’s sympathies and apologies. He doesn’t think he can bear it. And eventually, Courf stops calling him.

He stills has to go to the protest on Friday, though, because Enjolras has jobs for everyone, and because despite his inner debate over whether or not he wants to see Courfeyrac again, he still really believes in what Les Amis are trying to do.

He’s been put in charge of talking to people on the ground, coordinating with Eponine and Feuilly (who, he finds out from Jehan, are a capital-T _Thing_ now), handing out flyers and explaining the group’s position while Enjolras and Courfeyrac lead the rally. He spends all of the time that he would normally spend at the café going over facts and numbers, making sure he knows the answer to any possible question someone might challenge him with.

It’s a cold day on Friday, but the sky is clear, and the turnout is good. Aside from Les Amis, there’s about a hundred people milling around on the front lawn of the university, waiting for the event to begin. Combeferre joins Les Amis at the front of the lawn, getting his flyers and clipboard set up and evading Courfeyrac when he tries to come over to him.

Since they’re protesting the school itself, there’s no way they were going to get any help with microphones or amps from the AV department. Instead, someone hands Enjolras and Courfeyrac megaphones, and at exactly noon, they begin.

It’s not a riot. People listen to what they have to say – because when Enjolras speaks like this, people _listen_ – and a few people in the crowd yell out their disagreements, but it’s a pretty calm event overall. Most of the people Combeferre talks to on the ground are interested but not too interested, which could be extended to a general metaphor about the state of politics in the modern world. It’s nothing like the revolts people read about in history books.

There is but one casualty. Courfeyrac, in an effort to make them more visible across the campus, had run into the middle of the pedestrian-only street, and somehow managed to climb on top of an old parking-booth-turned-information-kiosk that sits at the entrance to the university. He stood with his megaphone, calling out their messages when Enjolras needed breaks.

As the protest comes to an end, Courf tries to jump down, but loses his footing and ends up falling. It’s not far to the ground, only about ten feet, but he’s turned the wrong way in the air from slipping, and he lands on his left wrist. On the concrete.

There’s blood on the pavement, and it’s obvious even from fifty feet away, where Combeferre stands, that the wrist is broken. Courf isn’t making an effort to move; he’s just staring at the wound.

Ferre looks around wildly for Joly, but he’s nowhere to be seen, and there’s no one else but Ferre in the group who knows medicine, or even first aid. There’s other people milling around Courf now, and Ferre doesn’t trust any of them to help. He doesn’t trust Courfeyrac with anyone but himself. So he starts to run.

When he reaches Courf, he doesn’t say anything, just takes his wrist and covers up the cut with one of his gloves to stop the bleeding, and pushes far, far down the feelings he’s experiencing just from touching Courfeyrac’s hand again. Courf looks dazed, and Ferre is starting to wonder if he maybe hit his head when he fell, when he mumbles, “don’t like blood.”

Shortly thereafter, he passes out, his head falling onto Ferre’s chest.

Thankfully someone in the crowd must have remembered to call an ambulance, because one shows up just a moment later. The rest of the group is coming over now, realizing what has happened, and then the paramedics are taking Courfeyrac away.

Ferre is barely present while he answers his friends’ questions. Did he hit his head? Is he okay? Ferre explains what happened without even hearing himself talk.

He knows that Courfeyrac will be perfectly fine; it’s just a broken wrist and a cut that might not even need stitches. But still… the image of Courfeyrac’s eyes fluttering closed won’t leave Combeferre’s mind.

“Combeferre!” Enjolras is practically yelling at him. “Are you going to go in the ambulance with him or not?”

The paramedics are waiting very impatiently by the back doors of the ambulance.

“No,” Ferre finally manages, picturing Courf’s face and thinking he couldn’t bear to look at him hurt any longer. “No, you go.”

Enjolras wastes no time getting in the back of the ambulance. Combeferre goes with the rest of his friends towards the metro, to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I hate writing the sad parts.


	6. Combeferre

It turns out that eleven people is about ten people too many to bring to a hospital waiting room.

They’re not allowed to go in any further than the main waiting area, and even there, the nurse on staff looks like he wishes they would leave. Jehan calls Enjolras instead to find out what’s going on.

He listens to Enjolras on the other end of the call, and then repeats the information for the group.

“E says he’s fine,” Jehan says. “They put on some, like, glue stuff to hold the cut closed, and they’re putting a cast thing on him now.” Combeferre is starting to wish that he had gone with Courfeyrac in the ambulance. Either Enjolras isn’t good at explaining medical procedures, or Jehan’s lost some information in this literal game of telephone. Ferre would be less worried if he could see Courf himself.

“He’s supposed to stay in the hospital for half an hour because he passed out,” Jehan continues. “But he’s awake, and Enjolras says he’s allowed one more visitor if one of us wants to go upstairs.”

Every single ones of the Amis’ heads turn towards Combeferre. _Am I that obvious?_ he thinks.

“I’ll go,” Ferre says, even though the decision’s already been made.

“Room 506,” Jehan tells him. He heads towards the door that leads into the main area of the hospital. As he walks by her, Musichetta reaches out her hand and gives his a squeeze. Ferre has no idea what it’s for, but he does feel a little comforted.

As he stands alone in the elevator, Ferre wonders what he’s going to say when he gets there; he and Courfeyrac aren’t even on speaking terms at the moment. And the last time they saw each other… Ferre hopes Courf is as talkative as usual, because he can’t seem to think anything to say, let alone the _right_ thing.

Ferre had some awful images in his head of Courfeyrac lying in a hospital gown, with tubes coming from his nose and wrist. But when he gets to room 506, Courf’s sitting up on the bed with his legs dangling over the side, wearing his normal clothes, with a cast that looks more like a wrist guard on his left arm.

Enjolras is sitting in a chair in the corner by the door. Ferre nods at him when he comes in, then walks over to Courfeyrac. It’s a good thing he’s in a hospital, because his heart feels like it might jump out of his chest.

“Hi,” Ferre says.

“Hi.” Courfeyrac’s expression is completely unreadable.

“Um, does your wrist hurt?”

“No, it feels great,” Courf says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Yes it hurts.” He pauses for a moment before adding, “Um, but thank you for coming over to help me when I fell.”

“You’re welcome,” Ferre says awkwardly. _This is going terribly,_ he thinks. “Does anywhere else hurt?”

“My left leg’s really bruised on my shin,” Courf says. “Because I landed on that, too. And,” – Courf pulls his swollen bottom lip down so that Ferre can see the skin inside it, which has a cut on it – “I bit my lip when I fell, so that sucks.” He runs his thumb over his lip, feeling the change in size.

And then Ferre snaps back to that moment on Halloween when Courfeyrac did the same thing to his own lip. He’s struck, all at once, with all of the love he’s felt for Courfeyrac since the beginning of the school year. And for that moment, it blocks out the pain of his doubts, and it blocks out his bad English pronunciation skills, too. It’s like a dam has broken behind his tongue, and suddenly Ferre can’t stop talking.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says to Courf. “I’m really glad, because I was so worried when I saw you fall. And I’m sorry I didn’t come with you in the ambulance but I couldn’t stand to see you hurt. I should have been there for you. And I’m sorry for ignoring your calls and texts and for leaving your party without telling you ‘Happy Birthday.’” Ferre stops for a moment, gathering the courage for what he’s going to say next.

“And I’m sorry for running away when you kissed me.”

Courf looks a little sad, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Why did you just leave? And why didn’t you want to talk to me after… after what you said?”

“Because I knew I shouldn’t have told you that I… you know. Because I know you don’t feel the same way about me, because you’re just… you’re so much… more than me.” Ferre’s already regretting his words before he’s even done saying them. The temporary shock he felt is wearing off, and now he feels flayed open.

“Is that the only reason you left? Because you think that I don’t feel that way about you?” Courf asks. “Or did you not mean what you said?”

“I meant it,” Ferre mumbles, staring at his shoes. “But I know you don’t—”

“Hey,” Courfeyrac interrupts him, reaching out with his good arm to raise Ferre’s chin so that Ferre’s looking right at him.

Ferre makes an unintelligible noise to show that he’s listening, since with the tears forming in his eyes, that’s all he can manage.

“I do feel the same way about you,” Courf says simply.

Ferre’s ears are ringing, and about ten seconds pass before he can speak again.

“You should be mad at me,” is what he says, changing the subject slightly because he can’t quite process the most recent of Courfeyrac’s words.

“What?”

“Aren’t you angry with me? I mean, you stopped calling me, you must have been at least a little mad.”

“I… no,” Courf says honestly. “I was sad, Ferre. Here I finally got you alone and kissed you, and you said you loved me, and I was freaking out, but in a good way, and then you just ran away? I thought I did something wrong. I stopped calling because you weren’t answering, and I thought if I gave you some space, you’d come back to me.”

“I thought you were mad about what I said,” Ferre says quietly.

“I was shocked,” Courf replies gently. He’s smiling big now. “I was so shocked because the guy that I—”

“Don’t say it,” Ferre says, his voice much stronger than before. “I mean, don’t say it to me yet. I want to say it to you first, properly this time. After I apologize again now for being such an idiot.”

“Apology accepted,” Courf says lightly, reaching out to take Ferre’s hand.

“UM,” Enjolras squeaks from the corner, looking more uncomfortable than anyone in the history of the world has ever looked. “I’m still here for some reason.”

Both Ferre and Courf laugh, having totally forgotten that he was in the room.

“You can go now,” Courf says.

“Thank god,” whispers Enjolras. “I mean, I’m really happy for you both, and all, but—” he trips over his chair as he practically runs for the door – “yeah, okay, bye!”

Courf is still laughing and smiling that gorgeous smile that Combeferre loves when Ferre turns back to him.

“You were saying?” Courf says patiently.

Ferre wonders where all his nerves have gone, because right now, he doesn’t feel any at all.

“I love you, Courfeyrac,” he says.

“I love you, too, Ferre.”

Ferre’s heart was pounding before, but now it feels oddly calm. Some things just feel right.

“You said you think I’m ‘more’ than you?” Courf asks. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re just so… so kind, and sweet, and… and good,” Ferre says clumsily. “I don’t know what someone like you could see in me.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’ve got all the time in the world to tell you now, because the list is miles long,” Courf replies, making Ferre’s cheeks flush.

“Can I kiss you? Or will your lip hurt too much?” Ferre asks. “I promise it’ll be better than last time.”

“It was great last time, while it lasted,” Courf says. “I much preferred having you bite my lip than doing it myself today. But yeah, you can kiss me. Just be gentle.”

Ferre leans in and meets Courf’s lips, and it’s nothing like the last time. It doesn’t feel like it’s draining Ferre at all; quite the opposite, he feels revived.

It’s soft and sweet and unhurried.

It is the start of something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, right?! I'm so glad it's resolved now. Even though I'm the one writing this, it makes me sad when they're apart.


	7. Combeferre

The next day, Les Amis have a meeting scheduled in the afternoon to debrief on the protest. It’s being held at the café, of course, and Ferre couldn’t be more excited.

After he Courf had kissed for an entirely inappropriate amount of time in the hospital yesterday, only stopping when the doctor interrupted them to discharge Courfeyrac, they had gone their separate ways for the day. Ferre accompanied Courf back to his apartment, but Courf wanted to sleep, and Ferre didn’t want to disturb him, so they parted with a kiss and planned to see each other the next day for their first official date.

Ferre spends an outrageous amount of time trying to pick out a fancy outfit from his limited supply of clothing. It’s hard because they haven’t yet decided where they’re going, and because he wants to make a good impression, provided he’s done such a ridiculously bad job of that thus far. And that starts with making it look like he cares about this date. Which he does, more than pretty much anything else.

He ends up in a denim button down shirt and a pair of black jeans. He doesn’t wear jeans often because he finds them uncomfortable, but he thinks he looks nice in them, so hopefully Courfeyrac will agree. It’s cold out though, so he throws his long navy blue coat on over the outfit.

He spends a few minutes trying to get his hair to lie flat at the back before giving up. Courf’s liked him – no, _loved_ him, he thinks, feeling goosebumps – all this time. Surely he doesn’t care if his hair is messy.

Combeferre takes a final look in the mirror before leaving the apartment, taking in his outfit in the reflection and laughing at the silly grin plastered on his face.

***

“Can I get some service here?” Combeferre jokes when he gets to the counter of the café. There’s hardly anyone in the place, most people having better things to do at 5 p.m. on a Saturday. Courfeyrac’s supervisor is doing something to the espresso machine with a screwdriver, and Courfeyrac himself is attempting to clean the floor behind the counter, pushing the mop around pointlessly with his one good hand.

“Sorry,” Courf says, without even looking up. “We don’t serve your kind here.”

“What’s my kind?”

“Super hot French guys.”

“Well, then, I will have to take my business elsewhere,” Ferre says with mock indignity, walking away from the counter, pretending to leave.

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” Courf yells suddenly, causing Ferre to stop in his tracks and turn around.

“COURFEYRAC!” his supervisor shouts, dropping the screwdriver. “Language!”

“Sorry, Brian, but have you seen my boyfriend’s ass in those jeans?!”

Ferre can’t decide whether to freak out about Courf calling him his boyfriend or Courf checking out his butt first, so he freaks out about both simultaneously.

“No, Courfeyrac, I haven’t,” says the very disgruntled Brian. “And I don’t really want to. Isn’t your shift over now? Isn’t it time for you to stop bugging me?”

“Jeez, so touchy,” Courf says back to Brian, sneaking a playful glance at Ferre. It’s a good thing Courfeyrac’s so charming, Ferre thinks, otherwise he’d have been fired years ago.

His shift really is finished, however, so he disappears into the back of the shop for a minute before coming out with his coat in hand and his apron gone.

“Free at last, to see my Ferre at last” he says as he walks over to join Ferre on the other side of the counter.

“That was awful,” Combeferre deadpans, absolutely loving it.

The meeting isn’t until 5:30, so Ferre and Courf pass the time on one of the couches in the corner together. Courf gets a fire going, the fireplace having been cleaned out and made ready for service a few days prior, and then sits down on the couch with Ferre.

Combeferre thinks about the first time they sat here together, two months ago, and how he thought that Courfeyrac was sitting way too close to handle. Now, he can’t be close enough.

Ferre moves to cuddle closer into Courf’s shoulder, and accidently bumps their legs together as he does. Courf winces at the contact.

“Sorry,” Ferre says automatically. “Is your leg still really sore?”

“Um… would you think I was a baby if I said yes?”

“Of course not.”

“Then yes, it hurts like a bitch.”

“I’m sorry,” Ferre says again. It’s not his fault, but he still feels like someone needs to say it. He bends his long legs up on the couch beside him and then leans in again, resting his head against Courf’s. Courf makes a small noise of contentment and leans back, shutting his eyes. Ferre follows suit.

Warm in front of the fire, feeling comfortable and gratified, they fall asleep together. They’re awoken by Joly yelling “Wake up, lovebirds, you’re grossing everyone out!” at close range. All of Les Amis have piled into the café by then, settling in or grabbing drinks at the counter.

“It’s not gross,” Musichetta says, lightly smacking Joly’s arm. “It’s adorable.”

“The adorablest,” Cosette chimes in.

“Now it’s you two who are being gross,” Courf says, completely failing to convince anyone that he doesn’t love the attention. Ferre just smiles. “Leave me and my _boyfriend_ alone,” Courf continues, reveling in the word.

“So it’s official, then?” Feuilly asks, his hand in Eponine’s as they sit down.

“Yes,” Ferre says, because he can’t let Courfeyrac have all the fun of telling everyone. “It is officially official.” Courf beams at him.

“What about _this_?” Courf asks, gesturing to Feuilly and Eponine’s intertwined hands.

“ _This_ is more casual,” Eponine answers. She smiles at Feuilly, adding, “For now.”

Feuilly looks thrilled at that. She probably could have said anything and he would still have looked just as happy.

“Well, isn’t everyone just so stupidly-happy and shacked up, then,” Bahorel grumbles, as the rest of the group comes over with their drinks hot in their hands. “Where’s my love story, huh?”

“And mine,” Jehan echoes sadly from where he’s sitting on the floor.

“Why don’t you just date each other?” Bossuet jokes.

The two of them laugh for a moment, and then a strange moment passes where they look like they’re actually considering it. Enjolras clears his throat loudly and starts the meeting to diffuse the tension.

The meeting doesn’t last long. There’s not really much to debrief on from the protest, and after all of their hard work, everyone’s just in the mood to relax. No one more so than Grantaire, who pokes and prods at Enjolras the entire time. Enjolras keeps stopping his speeches to chastise Grantaire, and it eventually turns into a full-fledged argument, albeit a loving one, and the meeting falls apart into smaller conversations.

Ferre and Courf socialize for a bit before Courfeyrac stands up and announces that they’ve got a first date to be getting to – eliciting whistles from Grantaire and Bossuet – and that they must be on their way.

Outside, Courf links his good arm with Ferre’s and says, “Do you mind if we make this a take-out date at my place? It’s not that I don’t want to take you out to a fancy restaurant and show you off, but I’ve been at work all day, and I still feel really crappy from yesterday. Enjolras agreed to go home with Grantaire and not bother us.”

“Of course that’s fine,” Ferre says. “As long as I’m with you.”

They stop at a shawarma place on the way home and get food to go. When they arrive at Courf’s front door, he stops and turns to Ferre before entering.

“Do you mind if I go in first and clean up? I kind of left everything a mess when I got home yesterday.”

“I can help you clean it if you want,” Ferre says. “I don’t want you to have to do it with a sore wrist.”

“No, it’s fine, just wait here,” Courf says again, opening the door, sliding inside, and then shutting it behind him.

Five minutes passes, and Courf still hasn’t come back.

“Courf?” Ferre calls through the door. “Are you okay?”

“Better than okay,” Courf replies, opening the door wide to let Combeferre enter.

It’s immediately evident that Courf was lying about the cleaning. There’s nothing at all out of place or messy in the room – living with Enjolras, you can count on that. Instead, he seems to have spent the time preparing the place for romance.

There’s some candles lit around the room, and a red tablecloth is draped over the coffee table. There’s two pillows on the ground beside it in lieu of chairs, and there’s music on, something quiet with piano. Courf’s taken their takeout and put it on real plates, and there’s a bottle of sparkling cider on the table – Courfeyrac’s not allowed to drink with his painkillers.

“Do you like it?” Courf asks, sounding shy for the first time since Ferre’s known him.

Ferre has to take a minute to swallow the lump in his throat before he answers.

“It’s perfect,” he says, reaching out a hand to graze over Courfeyrac’s cheek with his palm. “And so are you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I was going to get to the sexytimes today, but Courf's still pretty injured, and I thought they might need to wine-and-dine each other a little before they sleep together, you know? Also, I'm having separation anxiety about finishing this because it's so much fun to write. So, voila, the story of their first date. I promise I'll get to the sex part tomorrow.


	8. Courfeyrac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most observant readers may have already noticed the new tags I added today, namely "Dirty Talk," "Hair Pulling," and "Anal Sex."
> 
> You've been warned.

**December**

It’s two Saturdays later, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre are on their fifth date. If Courf has been counting correctly. They’ve seen each other practically every day for the past two weeks, if only for a few minutes between classes or at the coffee shop. To say that it’s been great would be an understatement, Courf thinks. _It’s been totally fucking awesome._

Courf is laying down on his couch with his head on Combeferre’s right leg. There’s a movie on TV, something Christmas-y that Courf chose and subsequently ignored entirely because as soon as he lay down, Combeferre tangled a hand in his hair. Ferre’s moving his fingers in small circles, sometimes tugging lightly on the curls, and he seems to have no idea what the feeling is doing to Courfeyrac. Perhaps if he took a more careful look at the front of Courfeyrac’s jeans, he would have some idea. But then again, they haven’t really talked about what they’re into yet.

Ferre moves his hand lower, scratching his short nails against the back of Courf’s neck and fisting a handful of the hair there, and Courf, unable to stop himself, lets out a low and not-entirely-quiet moan before pressing his lips shut. _Thank god Enjolras isn’t home,_ he thinks.

He turns his head so that his face is against Ferre’s thigh, hiding his reddening cheeks.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

But instead of accepting his apology, Combeferre uses the grip he still has on Courf’s hair to roll him over so that he can see his face – and at that feeling, it’s all Courf can do not to scream.

“Don’t be sorry,” Ferre tells him, reaching out to put his hands on Courf’s waist, moving Courf up to meet him with a kiss.

It starts out soft enough, but then turns into a kiss unlike any other they’ve had so far. Usually, they’re tender and gentle with each other, due in part to Courf’s injuries and in part to their mutual trepidation at moving things too fast. But Courf’s limbs have stopped hurting, and this kiss is messier than any that have preceded it. Courfeyrac isn’t sure whether it’s him or Ferre who has initiated the change, but he’s positive that he’s loving it.

“Come here,” Ferre whispers to him breathlessly, pulling Courf into his lap so that Courf’s straddling him.

Ferre reaches up again and tangles both hands in Courf’s hair, and Courf leans into them, desperate to feel those sensations again. Trying to tell Ferre what he wants, in the only way his muddled brain can think of right now, Courf bites down hard on Ferre’s bottom lip. Apparently, the message is well-received, because Ferre pulls, far from gently, on Courf’s curls, and Courf breaks away from the kiss, gasping.

“Was that okay?” Ferre asks, looking alarmed.

“So okay,” Courf answers, still trying to catch his breath.

“Do you want to me to do it again?” Ferre asks.

Courf, suddenly worried that Ferre might judge him for it, says, “As long as you don’t think it’s weird.”

Combeferre pulls Courfeyrac towards him and whispers in his ear. “I think it’s _hot_.”

Courf smiles giddily and pulls him back in for a kiss, his hands travelling wildly over Ferre’s chest and shoulders.

The next time Ferre pulls Courf’s hair, he doesn’t hold back, and Courf rewards him by grinding his hips down into Ferre’s, reeling from the pleasure-pain.

Courf thanks all of the gods he can think of that Combeferre hates wearing jeans, because when Courf moves against Ferre, he gets a _very big_ amount of reassurance that Ferre’s as into this as he is. Without breaking the kiss, Courf ghosts a hand over the front of Ferre’s slacks, and Ferre groans loudly into his mouth.

“Okay,” Courf says, moving off of Ferre’s lap and standing up. “Bedroom. Now.”

“What for?” Ferre asks with feigned innocence, though there’s a glint in his eye that shows Courf he’s playing around.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Courf says sarcastically, before moving in to kiss up Ferre’s neck to his ear. “I was thinking maybe I could suck your cock and then you could fuck me.” He pulls back before adding, “If that suits you,” with a wicked smile.

Ferre just gapes at him for a moment, looking half shocked and half hungry. Then he stands up and grabs Courf’s good wrist, dragging him into his own bedroom.

Courfeyrac really wasn’t joking about what he said, and he efforts to show it by kissing Combeferre into position at the head of the bed and then pulling both of their shirts off in about ten seconds.

“Oh my god,” Courf whines. “That’s just not fair.”

Ferre’s chest is toned and tight, wiry muscles stretched taut over his tall frame. Courf could judge some of this from touching him with clothes on, but he’s even more beautiful than Courf imagined.

“I look horrible compared to you,” Courf mutters, glancing down over his much softer stomach.

“It’s not a competition,” Ferre says sternly, taking Courf’s hand. “I imagined you’d look gorgeous without clothes on, and you look exactly how I imagined.”

Courf smiles a bit in spite of himself. “So you’ve been thinking about me… like this?”

“Constantly,” Ferre says.

“And I look okay?”

“You look perfect.”

That’s good enough for Courf. He gets back to what he was doing, making his way down Combeferre’s chest with his mouth, brushing over the few fair hairs he finds there. When he plays his tongue over a nipple, Combeferre huffs loudly, and Courf looks up and winks at him, which makes Ferre throw his head back and whine. Courf continues downwards, feeling validated.

When he reaches Ferre’s waistband, he pulls it down and licks Ferre’s hipbone, trying to tease him, but he quickly gets fed up with waiting and starts pulling at the button of Ferre’s pants.

He pulls Ferre’s pants, underwear, and socks off in one go, thinking he might hear a chorus of angels singing somewhere in the distance when he sees how nice Ferre’s cock is. He’s about to climb back on top when Ferre says, “Take yours off, too.” Courf jumps back off the bed and quickly voids himself of all of his remaining clothing, trying not to blush as he feels Ferre’s eyes on him. Then he crawls back onto the bed and takes Combeferre in his mouth.

Ferre is taken by surprise, and he jerks a bit underneath Courf, but the noises he makes clearly show that he doesn’t want it to stop. Courf licks at him lightly at first, then opens up his throat to take him deeper and deeper.

Ferre’s fidgeting underneath him, and he bucks his hips up when Courf takes him the farthest in yet. Courf coughs and pulls back.

“Crap, I’m so sorry,” Ferre says, holding out a hand to grab Courf’s. “I didn’t mean to, I just—”

“No, it’s okay,” Courf says. “I, um... I like that. Just don’t do it that deep again.”

“Okay,” Ferre says. “Really, I’m sorry.”

But Courf just rolls his eyes and takes Ferre back into his mouth. Ferre is completely still this time until Courf actually reaches out and moves his hips for him, guiding him until he does it on his own. Ferre reaches and tangles a hand into Courf’s hair and pulls to keep him still while he gently fucks his face, and Courf hums over Ferre’s cock, pleased.

“Gotta stop,” Ferre says suddenly, at a loss for breath, steering Courf’s head off of him. “Won’t be able to fuck you if I don’t.”

“Well, that would be tragic,” Courf is saying, and then Ferre sits up and shoves him back on the bed, climbing over top of him and pinning his good arm against the headboard.

“You know,” Courf continues, “I never would have thought the first time I saw you that someone so timid could be so—ah!” He breaks off as a Ferre curls his other hand around his dick.

“So what?” Ferre asks mildly, his hand moving quickly.

“ _Rough_ ,” Courf gets out in between gasps. _God, did he go to a special school for this?_ Courf wonders, as Ferre touches him in all the right ways.

Ferre just smiles serenely, and pumps Courfeyrac even harder. “Do you have supplies?”

“In the drawer,” Courfeyrac answers. Ferre releases Courf’s arm and pulls a bottle of lube and an unopened box of condoms from the drawer, still working his cock.

“Unopened,” Ferre says, pointing out the obvious. “Have you done this before?”

“Yes,” Courf says, “but not in a while.”

Ferre smiles, flushing a little. “Me neither. But is it going to hurt you too much?”

“Um, no,” Courf says awkwardly. “You’ll notice that the lube _is_ open.”

“Ah,” says Ferre sagely. He stops working Courfeyrac’s cock – much to Courf’s sadness – and slicks up his fingers instead. He hesitates when he gets his index finger to Courf’s opening.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Beyond ready,” Courf answers. And then Ferre is inside him, and Courf makes no effort to be quiet about how good it feels. Ferre is still moving slowly, afraid to hurt him, but Courf starts pushing back against his hand to show him that he can handle more.

Ferre adds a second finger, and then a third. Once the third is in, he leans over to take Courf’s cock in his mouth, but Courf stops him.

“Don’t,” he says, unable to be eloquent about it. “I’ll come in like two seconds if you do.”

“Your loss,” Ferre teases as he pulls back.

“I have all the time in the world to get you to suck me off now that you’re my boyfriend,” Courf says, the words coming out filthier than he meant for them to. But he thinks he might have hit a nerve when he sees Ferre’s free hand unconsciously move towards Ferre’s own cock at his words. Ferre's eyes fall shut as he touches himself.

“Need to be inside you now,” Ferre practically grunts out a moment later, and Courf has absolutely no problem with that.

Ferre rolls a condom on and presses himself against Courf’s entrance, looking up at him to make sure he’s ready. When Courf smiles back, he pushes himself inside, gently, staying very still.

It’s nothing like having fingers inside him, and it does hurt a bit at first, because it’s been over a year since the last time he did this, but the pain quickly turns to pleasure and wanting, and soon Courf is begging Ferre to move, _now, Ferre, move,_ without even realizing what he’s saying.

Then Ferre’s fucking him in earnest, reaching a hand up to tug on Courfeyrac’s hair. Between the pleasure coming from both ends of his body, Courfeyrac can hardly form a coherent thought that isn’t _Combeferre, Combeferre, Combeferre_ , but he wants this to be as good for Ferre as it is for him, and he’s got a hunch to test out.

“I’ve being waiting to have your dick inside me for so long,” Courf says. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t sit down tomorrow.”

Ferre squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh god, _yes_ , Courfeyrac,” he says, his voice whining slightly. “Je t’aime, yes, _more of that, please_.”

 _Hunch confirmed,_ Courf thinks. _Ferre definitely loves the dirty talk. Well, he picked the right guy for that, because if there’s one thing Courfeyrac loves other than Combeferre, it’s the sound of his own voice._

“You look so good fucking me,” Courf says, as clearly as he can in between the moans Combeferre is eliciting from him. “Your body’s so perfect. I love watching you like this, you look so beautiful. I love you so much. I think about you all the time—”

 _Dammit,_ Courf thinks. _That’s not sexy, that’s just sappy._ When has he ever been so lost for words?

“You look amazing like this,” Combeferre replies, removing his hand from Courf’s hair to drag his nails down his chest, grabbing Courf’s cock again when reaches it, working him slowly. “You’re so tight, but you take my dick so well.”

Courf just moans in agreement with this, still trying to think of what to say, which is becoming harder and harder as Ferre pounds against his prostate over and over. His own cock is soaked with pre-come in Ferre’s hand. And then inspiration hits.

“Remember when you slept over the first time?” Courf asks, the words slurring into each other as they tumble from him. “I woke up before you, and I was so turned on, Ferre, you don’t even know, feeling you pressed against my ass like that. And then before you woke up, I could feel you getting hard, and I thought I was going to come in my pajamas right then.” Courf looks up to see Ferre actually biting into his shoulder to keep quiet, and figures he must be doing this right. Ferre digs the fingers of his free hand so hard into Courfeyrac’s thigh that he’ll probably have bruises tomorrow, and starts working Courf’s cock faster with the other. Courf knows he has to talk fast, because he isn’t going to last much longer.

“And then I faked being asleep because I didn’t want to freak you out, but as soon as you left, I started touching myself, thinking about you. I fingered myself and pretended they were your fingers, and I said your name when I finished. And every time since then that I’ve done it, I’ve pictured you fucking—”

“Ah!” Courf is interrupted by Ferre shuddering and gasping, coming inside of him, and the look on Ferre’s face, almost the exact same look he had when they danced together for the first time, is enough to set Courfeyrac off, spilling all over Ferre’s still-pumping hand.

They stay together for a minute or two, catching their breath, before Combeferre pulls out of him, removing the condom and moving off the bed to put it in the garbage. Courf reaches into the second drawer of his nightstand to grab a strategically-placed towel to clean them both off.

After, Courfeyrac pulls Combeferre over to him, both of them rolling on their sides so that they’re facing each other. Courf pulls Ferre in for a deep kiss.

When they break apart, Ferre asks, “Was what you said true?”

“What?”

“About touching yourself and thinking about me,” Ferre clarifies. “Or were you just saying random stuff?”

“No, I wouldn’t lie,” Courf says immediately. “That was true.”

“Oh,” Ferre says, ducking his head and blushing profusely. “I only asked because, um, I did the same thing when I got home that day,” he says. “And I have also thought of you every time since.”

If Courf hadn’t just finished five minutes earlier, that sentence alone would have gotten him hard as a rock. Instead, he just grins. “Glad to know it wasn’t just me,” he says.

“I’ve wanted you since the first time I ever saw you,” Ferre says, more confidently.

“Well, that makes two of us,” Courf says quietly, reaching out to brush a hand through Ferre’s hair. Ferre pulls him in closer, so that they’re wrapped around each other.

“Do you want to go finish our movie?” Ferre asks a few minutes later.

“In a bit,” Courf says. “I’m in no hurry to move.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow's chapter will just be a short epilogue!
> 
> *cringes and hides under my bed for the rest of the week after writing this*


	9. Courfeyrac

The next morning, Courf doesn’t have to work, and neither of them have much homework left other than studying for exams, so they don’t get out of bed until noon. They might have stayed longer, even, had they not needed to attend a meeting at 1:30 at the café. Enjolras has them all signed up to work for a food drive over the break, and they need to get their door-to-door shifts sorted out.

They’ve got a bit of time, though, so they waste as much of it as they can in the shower together before leaving Courf’s apartment.

Half of the group is already there when they arrive, and once they get to the seating area with their drinks, they find that Enjolras, Grantaire, and Jehan have hijacked their regular couch in front of the fire. Instead, Ferre sits down in one of the armchairs and drags Courf into his lap, Courf feeling like his face might explode from how big he’s smiling. The rest of the group comes in then and settles in around them.

Courf takes a moment, then, to appreciate just how lucky he is to be there, with his friends and – he still gets giddy every time he thinks about it – _his boyfriend_. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are telling Jehan and Bahorel a story, something about Bossuet and some flypaper that doesn’t have a happy ending, and they’re all cracking up. Enjolras and Marius are arguing, albeit playfully, across the table, Cosette sitting on Marius’s lap and Grantaire stretching one arm lazily around Enjolras’s shoulders. Courf sees Feuilly stick a finger in his latte foam and then smear it on Eponine’s nose and laugh. And best of all, he can feel Ferre’s arms around him, his Ferre, and knows that he doesn’t have to worry about him going anywhere.

“Are you okay?” Ferre asks, his mouth beside Courf’s ear. “You look sad.”

Courf realizes he’s gotten a little teary-eyed thinking about how much they all mean to him. “Definitely not sad,” he tells Ferre, leaning down to kiss him lightly. “Very, very happy.”

“Me, too,” Ferre says cheerfully, smiling back. “Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you too,” Courf replies.

“Something’s different about you two,” Eponine says, looking at Courf, her nose now latte-foam free. The others pause their conversations to listen in. “I can’t put my finger on it, but something’s changed. You’re more disgustingly cute than usual.”

“I know what it is,” Grantaire says with a smirk.

“What?” Marius and Joly ask at the same time.

“They had sex,” says Cosette matter-of-factly.

The rest of the group chatters excitedly (except Enjolras, who looks slightly scandalized). Ferre hides his face in Courf’s shoulders, groaning, but Courf makes no attempt to hide his happiness.

“Yes, we did,” Courf says brightly. “Three times. And it was fantastic! Turns out France teaches them well!”

“Oh my god,” Ferre mumbles against his neck.

“What? Would you hide our love from them?!” _Them_ is now looking like they’ve received far too much information, and they go back to their separate conversations.

“I would never ‘hide our love,’” Ferre replies gently. “I just might spare them the statistics.” Enjolras pipes up then, trying to get everyone’s attention to start the meeting.

“Well, you’re going to have to get used to me having a big mouth,” Courf warns light-heartedly. “Because I really can’t keep a secret, especially when it’s something I’m so excited about. Can you love me as I am?”

Ferre looks at him, and the emotion behind his eyes is strong that Courf feels a little unhinged.

“Of _course_ I can,” Ferre says fervently.

Courf, unable to speak for once in his life, just grins, and then turns back to face the rest of the group for the meeting, leaning back against Ferre’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting and kudos-ing along, and to anyone who might read this in the future! You've all been so kind.
> 
> Also, just a little shameless self-promotion... the fanfic muse visited me last night and I had an epiphany last night about what I'm going to write next. So if you like the idea of Enjolras and Grantaire getting their phones mixed up at one of Bahorel's parties and then getting to know each other via text message and creeping the selfies on the others' phone (with sexting, of course, because who do you think I am?), I will probably be posting the first chapter of that very soon!
> 
> Thank you all again so much! Long live Courferre!


End file.
